


if i keep on moving (never lose sight of it)

by Paragraphss



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade Friendship, Dadza, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), techno's a badass, theyre a family!!, tommy does sick knife tricks, wilbur archery and guitar pog?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27955601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paragraphss/pseuds/Paragraphss
Summary: Tommy loses hope of ever being adopted.Enter Philza.( title from Wilbur Soot’s Since I Saw Vienna )
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 59
Kudos: 590





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way to make this story interesting.  
> A pause, a road, the taste of grave in the mouth. The rocks dig into my skin  
> like arrowheads.
> 
> \- The Torn Up Road, Richard Siken

There’s a clock ticking on the wall.

The sound of it is driving him insane; but sheer stubbornness prevents him from talking to fill the silence and drown out the repetitive _tickticktick_ of it. There’s a man sat opposite him at the table, in equal silence. There’s a stack of papers at his elbow. Tommy resists the urge to push them off the table.

The home is starting to give up on him. Tommy knows this. After so much trouble with all of his other foster families (the track record of stealing, the fights, and the growing pattern of only lasting three weeks in each home before being thrown back- Tommy’s lost count of all the things that Nikki, his social worker, has scolded him for), they’re beginning to lose faith in whether Tommy will ever find a permanent place. That’s fine with Tommy. He doesn’t need anyone, anyway. It’s always been him and him alone. 

The guy sat opposite him (who he most definitely remembers the name of) has blond hair and a green hat and a kind smile. Tommy isn’t fooled by the caring appearance, though. He’s not _stupid_ , for gods sake- he’s fifteen now, and he’s been with enough families in the past two years to know that the ones who look the kindest always turn out to be the worst.

The guy moves forwards, and Tommy tries to mask his flinch, but he knows the man sees it because he leans back in his chair, body screaming with a silent apology. Tommy curses himself for giving the man a weakness to potentially exploit.

He looks up at the clock. His fingers itch for the cool metal of his switchblade. They’ve been sitting in muted silence for almost thirty minutes; they have four minutes left of their allotted time-slot before the man is led back out of the room to make his decision on whether he wants to foster Tommy.

Tommy already knows what the answer will be, because he’s refused to say a word to the man after the compulsory introduction, so he doesn’t bother to say anything else when the man stands up to leave. The young blond leans back in the metal chair and closes his eyes, listening to the ticking of the wall clock, mentally preparing himself for the aching pain of rejection (even if it _is_ his own fault. Shut up brain).

Fifteen minutes pass before Nikki enters the room.

“Congratulations Tommy,” She says, “You’re moving in with Phil.”

——

Tommy packs in silence.

He doesn’t have much to his name; a few pairs of blue jeans, a couple of plain tshirts, and a faded black hoodie. He shoves them into his old backpack (sans the hoodie and a pair of jeans that he’s currently wearing), careful not to rip open the fraying stitches. His first ever foster family has bought him the bag, and while the pain of them sending him back to the home still stung whenever he saw the bag, he couldn’t pull himself to throw it away. 

He pushes the memory down and stuffs his emergency money into the front pocket.

He walks to the edge of his bed, and lifts up the frame, letting his switchblade slide out of the hollow metal leg. The home didn’t know he had it; it was a remnant of his years on the streets prior to being forced into foster care, back when his biggest worries were whether or not he could find food and if the other homeless kids were gonna stab him over a decent sleeping spot. He stuffs it into his hoodie pocket and zipped up his backpack, taking one last glance at his room.

The creaking bed, the faded duvet, the ratty curtains- he reassures himself that he’d be seeing it all again in a few weeks, when things stopped working and the man- Phil, he mentally reminds himself- inevitably brought him back.

He huffs and swings the backpack onto his back before making his way slowly to the front door. Phil and Nikki were standing there, chatting with big smiles. When Nikki noticed him, she came over, pulling him into a short hug.

“Try to make this one work, Tom,” She whispers, squeezing him. Tommy scoffs and shoves her off of him, shoving his hands back into his hoodie pocket to grab the blade hidden there.

“No promises, Big N,” He says with false bravado, “I’ve got a streak going!”

Tommy can hear Phil laugh from the doorway.

He scowls to distance himself from the feeling of pride that swells in the pit of his stomach. _Phil is not someone to get attached to_ , Tommy scolds himself. _He’s going to send you back as soon as he realises he can't handle a troublesome kid like you._

Nikki goes back to Phil, talking about paperwork and other adult stuff that Tommy could care less about. Finally, after what seemed like hours of waiting and kicking the fading carpet, he’s finally allowed to leave with Phil.

After saying somewhat of a goodbye to Nikki, Phil leads him out towards his car. He offers to carry Tommy’s backpack, but the blond just tightens his grips on the straps and pretends he hasn’t heard what Phil said. The older man doesn’t seem too offended; he smiles and carries on walking like Tommy hasn’t just completely blanked everything he said.

Phil stops next to a silver car, “So, Tommy- Am I okay to call you Tommy? Or would you prefer Thomas?” 

Tommy debates ignoring the man again, but Nikki’s words resonate inside his head- _Try to make this one work, Tom._

“Tommy,” He says quickly, and allows Phil to take his backpack and place it on the backseat.

Once the pair are seated in the car, Phil starts the engine, but doesn’t start moving. Instead, he twists his body so that one hand is resting on the wheel, but he’s facing Tommy in the passenger seat.

“So, Tommy. I know you didn’t read my file, and that’s fine- I only skim-read yours because I didn’t want to pry. But before we get home-” Tommy doesn’t miss how Phil refers to it as simply, home- not _my home_ , not _your new home_ , just- home. “I have two other sons. Both foster boys like you, who eventually decided that they wanted me to adopt them permanently.”

Phil pauses to let the younger boy take in the information. He has two sons- two successful foster sons?

Maybe he’d actually take Nikki’s advice on this one. If he tried hard enough and didn’t fuck up then- then maybe, maybe Phil would’t send him back by the end of it.

“Wil’s sweet, he’s my youngest- well, middle, now- and I think you’ll like him. He’ll probably be a bit quiet and territorial at first, but that’s just because he’s not used to having another brother. Techno will probably stay out of your way but he won’t be malicious about it- he took Wilbur on board just fine. He’s just got a more reclusive personality.” Phil says. Tommy nods, and looks down at his hands. He’s never cared about it before, but- what if Phil’s sons don’t like him? They’ve been with Phil longer; if they complain about him then Phil will have to send himback and Tommy will lose his chance at a proper family-

“Hey,” Phil nudges his arm gently, “Don’t worry. Wil and Techno have both been in your position before. You’ll fit right in. I promise.”

Something about the raw, genuine emotion in Phil’s voice makes Tommy feel calm in seconds. 

“Okay,” Tommy allows himself to whisper quietly. The older man hasn’t earned his trust, but he has earned his voice.

“You ready to go, then? We can hang out here for a little while longer if you need the time,” Phil offers. While Tommy subconsciously knows he probably does need a little longer to process what’s happening, he doesn’t want to annoy Phil’s sons by keeping their dad away any longer, so he nods his head and buckles his seatbelt.

Phil turns back in his seat, and fiddles with the gear stick, and before long, they’re racing down country roads, letting pine trees and thick forest grow higher around them.

Tommy lets out a sigh, and breathes.

——

Despite the overwhelming calm that Tommy feels while driving with Phil, he knows he’s going to bolt as soon as the car stops moving. 

It’s inevitable; Tommy can feel the itch under his skin. He needs to get up and sprint in some random direction until he can no longer see Phil and his stupid warm silver car and the stupid fancy forest that he lives in. He’s being too nice, too friendly- Tommy feels trapped, like everything is going to come crashing down when he makes one wrong move. 

_Might as well fuck it up before I have time to settle_ , Tommy reasons with himself, as a large, wooden house comes into view. 

It’s big- bigger than any house Tommy has seen, let alone lived in, with giant windows and cobbled accents and a winding porch that spans the whole exterior of the house. A dirt path leads behind the house. 

It’s too nice. Too overwhelming. Tommy winces as his stomach churns. 

Phil drives up the paths and parks in a large patch of dirt that’s obviously used for cars. There’s a gap beside him- for another car, maybe? 

As Tommy unbluckles his seatbelt, leg bouncing is anticipation and nerves, Phil reaches into the backseats and passes Tommy his backpack. (In hindsight, that really should’ve been a tip-off, but Tommy has never been particularly good at picking up social cues). Tommy grabs the bag and grips it right, knuckles turning white. 

Before Phil can get his seatbelt off, Tommy flings the car door open and bolts, feet thundering on the ground. He vaguely hears the sound of a door opening and someone shouting, but he ignores it, focusing on the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He pulls his bag to his chest with one arm and uses the other for momentum, ducking his head to direct all his energy into sprinting away from Phil and his stupid perfect cabin and two stupid sons who he already knows won’t accept his fucked-up attitude. 

It’s not the first time he’s ran as soon as he’s reached a home; it always happens with the nice ones- the ones who live in the nicer neighbourhoods with the calming demeanour and gentle aura. Phil is by far the worst he’s ever experienced. The man exudes friendliness and acceptance, and Tommy hasn’t experienced that since, well- ever. 

The harsh monotony of running brings him back to his past. The days where he was on the streets, armed with only his knife and the hoodie and jeans he currently wears. It was the worst few years of his life; he was so hungry all the time, so tired and cold and miserable. 

If Phil has any common sense, he will leave Tommy to run. 

He’s lived on the streets before, and he can sure as hell do it again. If only he can find the end of this _stupid forest_ \- 

He’s drawn out of his reverie by the sound of pounding footsteps behind him. In a panic, he veers off to the left, and his heart seizes when the footsteps follow, growing closer and closer-

The ground rushes up to meet him before he can even blink. 

He smashes into the floor, with a giant weight pressing on his back. His backpack smothers some of the fall, but his knees are definitely grazed and his hoodie is covered in mud. He swears, tries to stand up, and finds himself stopped by the weight still seated on his back. 

“Running never solves anything,” A monotonous, emotionless voice says from behind him. Tommy freezes.

When he tilts his head to the side, all he can see is- _pink hair? Red eyes? Sharpened teeth?_

“Too easy,” The figure says, and Tommy promptly passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sm for reading!!!
> 
> Updates should be fairly regularly but feel free to shout at me if you liked this enough to want another part!!! i appreciate every comment and kudos i get <<<333
> 
> apologies for any mistakes!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You saved my life he says. I owe you everything.  
> You don’t, I say, you don’t owe me squat, let’s just get going, let’s just  
> get gone, but he’s relentless,  
> keeps saying I owe you.
> 
> \- Wishbone, Richard Siken

Tommy wakes up in the air.

More accurately, he wakes up in someone’s (see: pink-haired psycho who tackled him in the woods) arms. After trying (and subsequently failing) to get free of the pink-haired guy's grip (a process that involved multiple swear words and attempts that could technically be classed as aggravated assault), Tommy allows himself to be carried back to where Phil is inevitably waiting for his return.

As they draw closer, the guy lets Tommy down, and hands him his forgotten backpack. Tommy snatches it and slings it onto his back with a scowl. Tommy can see Phil standing on the porch, talking to a tall boy with curly brown hair. He’s got a guitar in his hands, and he seems to be showing Phil something- the gentle chords float over to where Tommy and mystery-pink-haired-man emerge from.

“I found him, Dad,” The guy calls from behind him. Phil turns in Tommy’s direction, and Tommy can see the tension bleed from his shoulders. Guilt pangs low in his stomach.

“Thanks, Techno,” Phil says, walking down the steps to meet the pair. Tommy looks at his feet and kicks at a stick in embarrassment. “You had me worried there, Tommy. I had a feeling you were going to bolt but I didn’t think you’d get as far as you did.”

The blond looks up in surprise. Phil was worried about him? Phil, the man who just fostered him and was likely to throw him out in three weeks was  _ worried _ about Tommy running away into the forest?

It seemed too good to be true.

“He’s pretty fast,” The pink-haired guy - Techno, Tommy notes - comments as he moves up the porch steps to go and stand by Phil’s other son. He speaks in the same slow, monotonous tone as he did in the forest; his face doesn’t even flicker with emotion when he compliments Tommy’s running ability. Tommy files it away with the list of all the other odd things he’s observed about the boy. Phil hums in agreement, and once he notices Tommy’s obvious shame and discomfort, he ushers the pair inside. The curly haired boy - Wilbur, Tommy guesses - takes one last look at the blond next to his father before he disappears into the house.

“Feeling better now?” Phil asks. Tommy doesn’t know if he’s referring to the run or the absence of Phil’s sons, but he nods regardless. Phil smiles, leaning against the porch railing,

“How did you know I was going to run?” Tommy blurts suddenly. Phil considers him for a moment before letting out a small chuckle. Tommy can feel his cheeks turn red in embarrassment.

“Techno ran when I first fostered him too. He was restless in the passenger seat, and as soon as I parked, he was out of the car and into the forest. All of his stuff was still in the car, so he never would’ve gotten far, but it really freaked me out,” Phil had this fond look on his face, like the memory of Techno’s attempt at escape was something funny and wholesome; not a botched attempt to leave.  _ Techno ran and he’s still here _ , Tommy realises.  _ He hasn’t fucked-up yet, then _ . “He fell and cut his chest open. It was pretty nasty. That’s why I handed you your bag, in case you fell. You had the same nervous energy about you.”

Tommy nods his head in acknowledgement and casts his gaze towards the front of the house. He catches a flash of brown and pink disappearing behind a curtain, and realisation tastes like acid in his mouth; Phil’s sons were watching him through the window.

Phil watches Tommy gaze out the house for a few seconds before leading him inside. 

The interior of the house is exactly what Tommy expected it to be; The floors are hard-wood but covered in gentle red and orange carpets. Everything is very rustic and cosy; all the furniture is wooden, and there’s an obvious warm colour scheme. The walls are lined with paintings and family photos. Tommy has to tear his eyes away from them; the sight of such a tight-knit, established family like Phil’s makes his belly hurt (or is that his heart?).

“Hey,” A voice says, and Tommy jumps in surprise. The curly haired boy stood opposite him in the hallway; the guitar that he had before now replaced with a book of some sort. Tommy raises a hand in an awkward wave and looks desperately at Phil, who looks at the pair in amusement.

“That’s Wilbur.” Phil clarifies, and Wilbur hums in agreement, before coming closer to stand directly in front of Tommy. He towers over the younger boy, so has to lean down to meet his eye.

He seems to study Tommy for a moment, and the action makes the younger boy’s skin scrawl. Wilbur narrows his eyes, before straightening back up to look at Phil. It’s only then that Tommy notices just how short Phil is compared to his sons (and by extension, Tommy) - the man is tiny. Wilbur and Phil seem to have a silent conversation before the brunette wanders down the hallway and disappears into the room next to the front door. Tommy assumes it's a living room of sorts, judging from the quiet sounds of television and the gentle chatter that starts up between the two boys once WIlbur has entered.

Phil leads him up to the second floor, and they stop outside the first door in the hallway. “This room’s yours. It’s not decorated yet, but we can go and get paints and decorations at some point this week so you can make it your own space. Techno’s room is next door, and mine’s opposite yours- if you need anything, and I mean anything, you’re more than welcome to come in and get me, no matter what the time is or how small it is,”

Phil pauses briefly to open Tommy’s door before continuing, “Seeing as this week is almost over, I’m not going to send you to school yet. I want to make sure you feel settled before throwing you into a new environment. I know it can be scary.”

Tommy hums in agreement and mumbles a small ‘thank you’ to Phil. The older man squeezes his shoulder, before informing him that he’d be taking the blond shopping for clothes the following day, and that dinner shouldn’t be too long. Tommy nods, and leans slightly into the touch to show Phil his appreciation. His voice refuses to work with him.

Phil must understand the gesture, because his smile is full of warmth and pride; he squeezes Tommy’s shoulder again before letting the boy have his peace.

As Phil closes the door of his bedroom, Tommy allows himself to relax. He sinks onto the bed, placing his bag at his feet. He’s pretty sure that the bed is the comfiest thing he’s ever sat on; it molds around him, swallowing him whole, and he feels like he’s lying on a cloud. Kicking his shoes off and lying on his back, he closes his eyes and slips his hands into his hoodie pocket, looking for the familiar chill of metal-

_ Wait. _

Tommy shoots up from the bed, whirling in a circle in the middle of his room. His pocket is empty. His knife isn't there. The one memory of his real family, his old life, the one thing he’s carried with him onto the streets, into every failed home, to every class at the various schools he was enrolled in and every group trip they did at the foster home- every memory he has, he has with that knife, and now it’s gone, he’s lost it because he decided to be stupid and run into a fucking forest away from Phil and his stupid fucking family and his stupid perfect house and-

Before he knows it, he’s huddled in a ball against the wall, pressing into the wooden planks. Tears stream down his cheeks, and he slams a hand down onto the floor, once, twice, anger taking over his mind. He doesn’t even register what he’s doing as he does it; too wrapped up in grief. That knife was the one possession he had and he fucking lost it like an idiot.

He winces as he feels the skin at his knuckles tear on the wooden floor. Blood streams down the back of his hand, but he feels numb, just staring at the crimson river. A few drops fall onto the floor.

_ Phil’s gonna be pissed as the mess _ , Tommy thinks, but his brain feels a million miles away.

He vaguely registers the sound of the door opening, but the red on his hands takes up all of his attention; if he just had his knife, he could ground himself, he could focus, he could get up off of the floor and clean up before Phil sees and scolds him for getting blood on the panels.

“Tommy?” A voice says, and suddenly there's a hand on his knee, and- oh. It looks like hiding his hand from Phil is out of the question, seeing as the blond man is kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Tommy, are you okay?”

His hands are shaking. Why are his hands shaking?

“-ommy? Tommy, what’s wrong?”

“I lost it,” He whispers, mostly to himself. Before Phil can jump in, he ploughs on, “I-I lost it, m-my knife. I know I’m not meant to have it but I’ve h-had it for years and I n-need it and i lost it when I ra-ran away like a fucking idiot.”

Tommy is sobbing openly now, hands gripping the worn-down denim of his jeans. Phil sits fully on the floor and hesitantly wraps an arm around the younger boy, waiting until the blond feels comfortable enough to press himself into the older man's side for comfort.

“I’m so-sorry Phil, p-please don’t send me back for having the knife and r-running away” Tommy whimpers.

Phil hugs the younger boy tighter, pressing his face into the golden curls, “Hey, listen to me. Are you listening?”

He waits for Tommy’s nod before continuing.

“I’m not sending you back. At all. I don’t care that you ran- well, obviously I care, but you know what I mean. You were overwhelmed and that's okay. I don’t care about the knife either. Having something of sentimental value is healthy, and as long as you don’t try to stab Techno, me or Wil with it, then you can do what you want. Techno trains with real swords in the garden, and Wil has a target for when he wants to practice archery. The only thing I care about is cleaning up those knuckles and helping you find your knife.” He pauses.

“And cheering you up with some quality cooking, of course”

Tommy chuckles at that. His tears have stopped now, and the blood on his knuckles has begun to dry. He no longer feels like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. Phil stands, and extends a hand out to the younger boy on the floor, offering to help him up.

“Techno is good at finding things. He’ll remember the way you ran and he’ll be able to find your knife. Now, come on downstairs and keep me company while I cook. Do you like salmon?”

\----

Dinner, Tommy will happily admit, is probably one of the best meals Tommy has ever eaten. It even trumps the first full meal he ate after spending years on the streets, which is saying something, because when you go that long without eating proper food and then eat a full, home-cooked meal for the first time, the whole plate feels like heaven.

Phil’s cooking should be what greets you in heaven. No, scratch that- heaven should be filled with Phil’s food. Now that's something Tommy can get behind.

Apart from the revelation that Phil is a cooking god, dinner passes in an otherwise uneventful blur. Wilbur and Techno sit opposite Tommy and Phil, but they keep their conversation quiet, and don't look at Tommy with confusion or resentment like the children of his other families did. They don't pester him with questions, either; they involve him in conversation if need be, but it’s only light questions like if he likes the beach or if he’s good with animals. Simple, passing topics, and honestly, it makes him feel more welcome than anything else he’s experienced at Phil’s home so far.

Once the plates have been rinsed and the table cleared, Tommy stands alone in the kitchen and rubs his sore knuckles. Gentle sadness creeps over him as the weight of his missing knife is evident in the lightness of his hoodie pocket. He sighs, turning to leave and wander back to his bedroom; only to be met with a wall of- a person?

“Uh,” Techno says, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. His pink hair is twisted up into a bun on his head, and his other hand is held suspiciously behind his back. Tommy eyes him nervously but doesn’t respond.

“Uh. hi- here, that's- yeah. Here,” Techno stutters, thrusting the hidden hand forwards. When he unfurls his (creepily) long fingers, Tommy’s precious switchblade is laying in his palm. Tommy’s eyes flicker between the outstretched hand and Techno’s red eyes in shock.

He snatches the knife away and stuffs it back into his pocket, and before he can think about it, he says, “Why are your eyes red?”

Techno seems to freeze at that. The tension in the kitchen is thick and awkward; the two quietest people in the house trapped in a verbal standoff. It’s a stark contrast to the forest-fiasco, where Techno seemed to be in his element; chasing Tommy to pin him down and drag him back to Phil. Now, Techno stays frozen for almost a full minute before he manages to force out, “Birth defect.”

Tommy takes that as a dismissal and scarpers out of the kitchen, almost knocking into Wilbur in his haste to retreat to the safety of his bedroom. The older boy looks at him in confusion, but Tommy flies up the stairs before he can be interrogated for leaving.

Once his door has been closed, he allows himself to let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. The comforting press of his blade in his pocket calms his rabbiting heart.

After a few minutes of sitting against the wood of his door, a knock resounds from behind him. He jumps out, and backs away slowly, before calling out for whoever to enter his room.

It's Phil. Tommy relaxes his shoulders and sits on the bed.

“Did Techno find it?” He asks, leaning against the door frame. Tommy nods and pulls it out of his pocket, letting it fly over his fingers with practised ease. Phil lets out a low whistle.

“Impressive. I’m sure if you showed Techno he’d be impressed too.” Phil comments. Tommy flushes and pockets the blade. Phil chuckles before walking over to drop something in Tommy’s lap.

It’s a… phone?

“Mine, Techno and Wilbur’s numbers are already in there.” Phil explains, “In case you need to contact any of us. It’s all paid for so don't worry about limits and stuff. You can download or do whatever you want with it, as long as it isn’t dangerous.”

Tommy can already feel his eyes begin to well up. Not once has a family ever thought to give him a phone; a phone is something expensive, something permanent. A sign that Phil wants him around, wants him to call or text, wants to make sure Tommy is safe. Fuck- he feels so weak, crying twice in front of Phil, but the older man doesn’t laugh or make fun of him like his previous homes.

Instead, he bundles Tommy up in his arms and hugs him as the younger boy sobs.

"Thank you," He says, and he repeats it like a mantra, even after Phil has told him that it's okay, and pressed a soft, barely-there kiss to his hairline, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Tommy doesn’t know when he drifts off to sleep, but when he wakes up, it's to sunlight streaming through the window, the duvet pulled up to his chin, and his new phone on charge on his dresser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know that tommy's character is definitely more outgoing and loud, but i think at this point in the fic it makes more sense for him to be very mellow and introverted. but dont worry, the tommy we know and love will slowly be making his appearence!!!
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are always apprecaited! the support i got on the first chapter was so heartwarnming to see, so i churned this chapter out as quickly as i could!! i hope you all enjoy!!! (also, if you haven't already guessed, i am in love with richard siken's poetry, so expect alot of his qoutes at the start of chapters haha)
> 
> if theres any mistakes lmk! <<3


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